


Something idiotic

by gonattsaga



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-09
Updated: 2011-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonattsaga/pseuds/gonattsaga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a simple misunderstanding really...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something idiotic

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a 100 situations challenge on Livejournal, prompt "Truth"

Krycek thought he would go mad. Pacing the floor of Mulder’s living room and chewing his bottom lip away, to prevent himself from screaming or cursing out loud and also to have something to do because the pacing wasn’t nearly enough. He also made a bee line for the coach every few minutes to beat the stuffing out of one of the pillows, or to try anyway, because not even the lip biting was enough.

He wanted to hit the wall, beat it repeatedly and smash his knuckles against it, break them, but he controlled himself. The noise would surely alert one of Mulder’s neighbours. And he didn’t want to ruin the man’s wall paper by smearing blood all over his wall, either.

He hadn’t even realized what he was doing until it was done. It had all happened so fast.

As if the man in the moon had got a hold of a remote control and pressed “fast forward” just for the hell of it, he thought, even though it was probably a cliché which he’d never liked anyway, because he’d never experienced it so he had never known how real the saying could be. Krycek always stayed in control, was always making sure he was at least one step ahead of everyone else, so he hadn’t had a clue as to what it meant to ride the tide of time without knowing what would happen next.

It was terrifying. But it was even more terrifying when the man in the moon hit “play” again and everything slowed to a normal pace and you began to realize what was going on around you.

Just like that. The man in the moon hit “play” and there he was, standing in the middle of Fox Mulder’s living room, his chest and stomach aching from bruises and what felt like at least a broken rib, blood trickling from his swollen lower lip, which didn’t stop him from immediately burying his teeth in it, a habit of his when things got hectic. And he was staring at the seemingly lifeless form of Fox Mulder, lying sprawled on the floor like some discarded puppet, blood gushing from his head.

Where I hit him, Krycek had thought with shocked detachment. He was standing there, in the middle of Mulder’s living room, staring at the other man, who could be dead for all he knew, who he could have killed, and he felt as though he were floating, leaving his body and watching the scene of the crime like a ghost hovering somewhere near the ceiling.

But then the shock had drifted off of him and realization flooded him with agonizing clarity.

He all but threw himself at the unconscious man, crouched down next to his body, leaned over him, checked his pulse, not dead, he pressed his eyes shut and breathed a sigh of relief, a sigh which came out like a sob, but he chose to ignore that and began to check on the wound.

That was an eternity ago and Mulder still hadn’t come to. To be precise, it was actually three hours and forty-six minutes, but it felt longer. Like, eternity-long. He stopped pacing, made another bee line for the coach, but this time he collapsed on top of it instead of manhandling it or any accessory belonging to it. He rested his neck against the headrest, but then he leaned over sideways and laid down, buried his face in Mulder’s pillow, inhaled his scent.

God, I can’t believe he actually sleeps here, he thought. The smell of him, that distinct Mulder smell, was enough to tip him over the edge and finally release the tears that had been lurking in the corners for three hours and forty-seven minutes. He turned over, stared up at the ceiling, felt the tears run carefully down his face and wet his ears. They were hot and stung.

A quiet moan broke through the silence and he was on his feet and crouching by Mulder’s side within a second.

+

He was brought back by the sensation of feathery touches against his face, finger tips grazing the skin covering his temple, his brow, the bridge of his nose, just above his upper lip…

He swallows the thickness building in his throat and allows his eyes to flutter open, afraid of what he’ll see, or more accurately, what he won’t.

But there they were, those deep green eyes, as glimmering yet clouded over as always, just like the last time he’d stared into them, and just like last time, they were dangerously unreadable. It was him. There was no mistaking it, only Krycek had eyes that green, only Krycek caused his chest to tighten by merely gazing back.

“I’m dreaming”, Mulder said, his voice a raw rasp from lack of use and recent sleep.

“Yep”, the image of Alex Krycek replied and grinned, although the lips seemed twisted, caught stiffly in the movement, and the greens were red rimmed and glossy.

Mulder blinked a couple of times, confused by the tickling fog that seemed to hug his mind, attempted to smile back, but the gesture hurt and he winced. The grin on Krycek’s face disappeared and was immediately replaced by a worried frown.

“You alright?”

Mulder nodded and silently wondered at how much he missed the fingers on his face. But despite having withdrew his hand, Krycek’s face was still as close his as it’d been before. He could feel the breath as it hit his lips, could not decide if it felt warm or cool, but he was definitely sure that he liked the feeling either way.

“You should wake up, Mulder…” Krycek murmured the words vibrating all the way into Mulder’s mouth and he wet his lips and swallowed again, hard, felt the greens flicker down for a moment, the fog fading slightly, but not enough to clear his thoughts.

“I can’t.”

“Well”, said Krycek, gazing into him again, lips twitching carefully. “I guess you’re not really asleep then… perhaps you’re day dreaming.”

The twinkle in Krycek’s eyes made Mulder want to smile, but remembering the pain he quenched the impulse and merely quipped: “But it’s night.”

Krycek chuckled then. Somehow it felt like a victory. Mulder wished he would have heard it before, wished he’d caused it earlier, long before reality had started crumbling. Krycek lowered his face further until he was too close to see, but Mulder didn’t care much, since the feeling of mouth against mouth was a far better sensation anyway. He parted his lips slightly, slowly, breathing in the taste of the other man, eager to have his tongue connect with his and parted his lips even more, but then Krycek withdrew and Mulder felt painfully cold.

“Come on, Mulder”, Krycek said with some urgency. “Snap out of it.”

And as the fog lifted completely, it all came back to him in a nauseating rush. The images replayed themselves in painstaking vividness, and he wanted to scream from the horror of it all.

He’d followed Krycek to his own apartment, watched him pick the lock and enter. He’d followed him, silent as a ghost, and he’d managed to catch him off guard in his own living room and had him by the throat before he’d known what had struck him.

Those green eyes had flashed with startled panic, but then softened with recognition, and for a brief moment, Mulder had almost thought the man was going to smile. But then he twisted, brought his knee up with such force Mulder couldn’t feel it coming and slammed it up against the bottom of his ribcage, which was lucky in a way, considering where else he could have aimed.

Mulder had not lost or loosened his grip on the man’s throat however, and he quickly regained his footing and pushed Krycek hard against the wall, and himself hard against him, until the man could barely breathe. And he’d glared, growled, and attacked Krycek’s mouth before the man had time to think, or before he himself had time to think about what he was doing, he’d pressed their mouths together hard, he’d bitten down, drawn blood and pushed closer, harder.

Krycek gasped beneath him, but other than that he made no sound. Mulder rolled his hips, pounded their crotches together, still sucking blood from the younger man’s bottom lip. Krycek had sounded then, whimpered, and it had shot a wave of electricity through Mulder’s body, even as he felt disgust at his own behaviour rise as bile into the back of his mouth.

He broke the kiss and stepped back. Took a breath, two. Hit Krycek in the stomach with all the strength he could muster. Watched him double over and crumble on the floor.

He’d felt sick.

“Don’t”, Krycek had gasped.

Mulder had pressed his eyes shut and counted backwards from five. Steady, deep breaths trickling down to his lunges. Then he’d kicked him, hard, and collapsed as his own knees buckled beneath him.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, finish it. He’d tried to be what Krycek wanted, tried to be as twisted as he was, but he couldn’t. He crawled over to him, grabbed him by the hair and forced him to look up. The vulnerability in his face had made him want to scream, or heave, or cry. He’d dropped him again and attempted to stand up.

The grip on his wrist caught him by surprise, and then there was a sharp pain on the side of his head, a blinding white light in the corner of his eyes, like the sun glinting in cracks of the blinds, quickly seeping into him, drowning him with whiteness, and then suddenly, all was black.

Mulder was frozen in the moment of realization. Suddenly it had become nearly impossible to breathe. He stared in horror at the face still hovering above him. Krycek was still gazing back, but he seemed shifty and the faint chuckle that escaped his lips was shaky with nervousness as he made a lame attempt at a joke.

“Still with us then, Sleeping Beauty…”

Mulder couldn’t speak, couldn’t possibly form any words to reply with, couldn’t think of what to say, no words would ever be enough.

Krycek’s lips still twitched uncertainly, but there was a new light in the greens. With a horror even icier than the one he already felt seeping into his veins, Mulder realized the younger man was actually afraid. He pressed his eyes shut with another muffled groan and prayed for unconsciousness again.

“Y-you sure you’re alright, Mulder?” Krycek’s voice rasped. “God… y-you think you might have a concussion? Should I call Scully?”

“I’m fine”, Mulder whispered, surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth, as though nothing was wrong with the world, when in fact, everything was.

He opened his eyes again. Another groan tore loose from his chest, but this one came out as a pitiful whimper.

“Why do you even care?” he asked brokenly.

Krycek’s face seemed to twitch again.

“I always care” he murmured, then turned his face away and got to his feet.

+

“I am so sorry”, Mulder said behind him, the sound of it thick with regret and pain, ‘sorry’ broken in half as his voice betrayed him and broke, like a record, like a rib.

Krycek spun around and stared at him. He was the image of misery where he sat huddled on the floor, all but hugging himself, dried blood caked in his hair, unshed tears in his eyes. Krycek shook his head in amazement.

“No”, he said. “Don’t do that, don’t dismiss this, please. Don’t hide from it.”

“What?”

“Look, Mulder. Despite what you may think of me… I don’t get off on being manhandled…” he broke off as Mulder began to sob for real, curling in on himself, turning his face against the wall. “No, don’t shut me out!”

Krycek stepped back and crouched down in front of him again. He tried to calm his heart down by taking deep breaths and began to nibble on his lower lip again. He reached out, tentatively, put his hand on top of Mulder’s shoulder, squeezed it slightly, reassuringly. He couldn’t tell who were trembling, but he felt the vibration of the touch. He shook it harder. Reached out with his other hand and forced Mulder to face him.

“Look at me. Listen…” he said softly. “That time in Hong Kong…”

“God, don’t. Please. Don’t say it, don’t say anything, I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Well you’re damn well gonna!” Krycek snapped before he could control himself. He took another deep breath. “I want you to know the truth about me, finally, since you’re so keen on it otherwise… Will you hear me out? Please.”

Mulder shut his eyes again, then nodded. The movement seemed to cause him pain. But Krycek knew it wasn’t from the injury, so he went on.

“I know what I am, I know the things I’ve done, and I never claimed to be a good person. But I’m not a cold hearted bastard, though I know it must seem that way most of the time. I have my reasons. I have always had my reasons. I don’t enjoy betraying people or killing people. But I will do what I have to do… I have my reasons.” he broke off again, this time to collect himself.

Mulder was staring at him, not crying anymore, not groaning or whimpering, nor barely breathing. Krycek averted his eyes.

“I’m not proud of what I’ve done, of what I’ve become… but just because I skived off the meeting with the guidance counsellor back in school, doesn’t mean I’m some psychotic deviant who enjoys being beaten to an inch of his life. That time in Hong Kong. I know you must have felt…”

He turned his face back and met the other man’s eyes. Mulder look down. He didn’t say anything.

“I’m not denying it, alright. I’ve always been… attracted to you, Mulder… and sometimes, just feeling your breath on my face… but that’s because it’s you, don’t you see? Only you, Mulder, only you make me… well, feel. And it’s not the that I enjoy the pain that always seems to come with the territory. I stand it…”

“Please, no more…”, Mulder whispered.

“No. I have to finish this. You won’t give me another chance and I want you to know…”

“What? What do you mean finish…”

Krycek turned his face away again, stood and moved back to the coach, but he didn’t sit down, he merely gazed at it, remembering the scent he’d inhaled from the pillow. He sighed.

“It’s always been too dangerous… always someone out there, lurking in the shadows, gunning for you… even going into a bar is risky, never mind going for a one night stand… and anyway, with someone else, anyone else… well, it just wasn’t worth it…”

“So what are you saying…”

He shrugged. Brought a hand up rub his neck, felt the tension beneath the touch, knew he’d have a killer headache within the hour.

“I guess I’m saying… I’m in love with you, or something idiotic like that…”

The end.


End file.
